


Anarchy in the UK

by sodagiraffe



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 70' culture, Alternate Universe - Punk, Feel free to comment, Fluff, Les Mis References, PLEASE do, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, also other people, check @penguinzart on instagram for art of this, kind of, other pairings too - Freeform, so many brOTPs, we are working together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9478616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodagiraffe/pseuds/sodagiraffe
Summary: London, 1977, when will they feel like the world belongs to them? When will they belong to the world?





	1. London is Calling

London is quiet at night, the dim lights in the streets are everything there is to see some nights. The shops are closed and the night life begins. Underground clubs, the occasional fight, the dark strangers lurking in what the street lamps don't touch, hiding behind some hidden alleys in a search for subsistence and unafraid youth. The stars watch over the brick walls and there are distant laughs coming from a nearly empty bar at the end of the street where Yura lives. He ties his worn out boots and opens his window. The cold enters his room followed by the clean moonlight, shaking his blond shoulder-length hair. He breathes in and sits on the sill, both feet hanging over the nearest branch from the tree next to his window and the distant grass.

London is quiet at night. But not this night.

Yura slides swiftly and carefully goes all the way down. He starts running as soon as his feet hit the ground and doesn't stop until a block later, where he stops to look back at his house. It isn't okay, what he's doing. He knows that and he feels really bad for his grandfather.

But also, he says to himself trying to justify it, he can't miss a chance like this. Because tonight, London is a place where history is made.

He's excited and full of energy. He feels like he's been waiting for this his whole life. The closer he gets to the epicentre of the event, the fuller and noisier the streets get. Leather jackets, fancy wigs, and a sea of ripped jeans surround him, it gets hard to see where he is stepping, and he trips and is about to fall a couple of times.

He hears some motorcycles ahead of him but even standing on his tips he can't see them. Size isn't his speciality. Behind him, a fight has started. Some people are already intoxicated, but that's okay, he guesses. Yura kicks a rock and resumes his walk towards his destination, a crowded venue with a stage and a gigantic placard on top of it that reads Sex Pistols.

The crowd was a wild mess of too many people and not enough booze. Yura tried to avoid the fighting pits for the sake of a good show and also because the next morning his grandfather could not even suspect were he had been. He brushed his hair down and sank into the sea, only to emerge in a clear spot.

Now, he was 17 years old, and he was about to finish school. He was slim and strong and... too short to see a damn thing.

Elbows and some nerve was all it took for him to be halfway to the stage. But elbowing random strangers in a punk concert is a really bad idea, even worse if you are less than 165 centimetres tall and skinny enough to be lifted almost effortlessly by an aggressive looking stranger.

Which was exactly what happened.

Yura growled on the inside and moved his extremities back and forth as he yelled something along the lines of:

"Let me the fuck down you fucking piece of shit or else-" he interrupted himself when he accidentally hit the stranger in the face with his fist.

"That's it." The stranger said and damn he looked pissed off. He lifted a big hand and was about to smack Yura's brain into Ireland when another voice raised above the noise.

"Thank you, good sir, for finding my son." This man hanged himself on the angry man's arm and stopped him from hurting Yura. "I had been looking for you, what a brat you are." And he grunted as he took him in his arms, and walked away from the other man.

Yura definitely didn't need any help so, jumping from the embrace he was trapped in, he ran back to where he had been stopped.

"You're not my dad!!" He yelled, and then: "Hey you asshole, come here and fight me."

"I know I'm not your dad." He hit his own forehead and whistled. "Need help here!"

A bleeding lip and several punches later, Yura was sitting all the way back away from the stage. A woman was pressing some piece of fabric into his wound, her short red hair framing her fine face, and a motorbike behind her. She seemed familiar.

"I've seen you at school." She took Yura's hand and put the piece of fabric on it, indicating him to press. The first man, the "dad", was standing not too far away, waving at someone. Then he approached the girl and held her face with both hands.

"That is gonna get ugly." He said inspecting her jaw.

"Just like your face." They both laughed.

Then he turned to Yura.

"How are you doing, little one?"

"Fine." He was still bleeding, but nothing major.

"I'm Viktor."

Viktor's hair was shiny with the lights, his smile was honest and smug.

"I'm Mila." She extended her hand for him to shake. "We go to the same school." She said to Viktor.

Another motorbike came up from behind Viktor. He leant close to the man on it and whispered something.

The new man had an undercut and shiny boots, he could barely make out the features in the man's face but he really didn't like to be stared at.

"What are you looking at?" Yura snapped.

His eyes lingered on him for a second and then he looked at Mila.

"Walk him home."

"Hey, I can stay here and take care of myself!"

"You clearly can't."

"Mila, please."

"You can't make her walk me home, and don't think I'm gonna take care of her. Who the fuck are you anyways?"

"I'm her older brother."

Yura looked instantly at Mila. She looked nothing like him, and she made a face when she heard him.

"And if Mila goes with you, the ones who will be scared will be the guys who are trying to attack you. Like those guys still there." Viktor pointed out.

"That's why you must leave. Right away."

Now, Yura really wanted to stay, but he also really wanted to not get punched anymore, and only if he had luck his grandfather wouldn't notice the cut on his lip, so he had to accept.

He let out a big "UGH" and then added "fine, I'll go."

"Good."

"Bye-bye, little one."

Walking away from them, Yura could hear Viktor say:

"Otabek, I have a black eye now!" he was whining. "Look!"

The concert was about to start, but Yura was now walking in the opposite direction and back to his house. Turned out he was not ready to assist a concert alone.

Mila, though, didn't seem bothered to walk him home.

"Where do you live?"

"In the street with the Beatles-themed bar that looks like shit."

She nodded.

"Why-" he interrupted himself when she looked at him, it was the first time he spoke in two blocks and she looked surprised and interested in what he had to say. "Why did you help me?"

She laughed lightly.

"To be honest, I don't know. Viktor called me and I just went. You should ask him next time."

"Is he your..." Yura gesticulated with his hands, trying to find the right word to ask for.

"Boyfriend? Hells nah, he's part of my gang."

"Your gang?"

"Not just any gang." She jumped hanging herself from a light post and raised an arm announcing: "The Gang, capitals and sparkles if you will."

"Do you sell drugs?

"What? No." She jumped off the lamp post and continued walking next to him.

"Why would you help me?" And a really bad thought popped into his mind right then: was he about to be kidnapped?

"That's our business, we just- wait" she suddenly had her hand on his chest, they both stopped walking. Yura looked at her, slightly offended but she wasn't paying attention to him. She was looking at the other side of the street, where the wall curved into an alley. Her free hand went inside her jacket and came back with a Bic pen. Everything was empty now, everyone was at the concert or at home and even the concert was just distant noise by now. Something in the alley clearly set the alarm for Mila because she grabbed his wrist and turned on their steps, walking back to the corner and turning left, away from the alley. "We'll take a shortcut now."

"What was that?"

Mila looked over her shoulder and returned the pen to its original place before answering.

"There was a body inside the alley." But that didn't seem a big deal. It was creepy, yes, but a body could do no harm, so the question stood in Yura's eyes. "There was no blood outside the alley," she explained. Whoever did it, they are still there. And the guy you hit back at the venue, he is not from a very friendly group. You can consider yourself a disposable target now. So we take this shortcut because I'm not testing my luck tonight."

"How old are you again?" She looked so wild and mature and sure or herself. Yura felt a wave of respect flow through him. The sensation lasted about three seconds and was disconcerting for him.

"Your age, I guess? Here," she shrugged before disappearing inside another alley. Yura followed without question. "We will jump this wall, and there's a house on the other side so be quiet. From this trash can, come on."

She helped him from the wall, of course. Still, she seemed pleased with it.

"It was easier than I thought, you are strong, little one." She said. They jumped to the grass that waited for them two meters away.

In the backyard of this two-story house, there is grass and a corner of it is full of flowers. Next to the house, there is a tree. A really... Familiar tree.

"This is my house."

"No way! Well, that is just a nice twist of luck!"

They got up and walked to the tree.

"Nice place, are your parents there?"

"My grandfather, actually, he is sleeping." Mila made a face of understanding: he had run away. "Why did you pull out a Bic when you saw the body?"

"A pen can change even more than what a knife can, but it can stab too."

"What can a pen change?"

"You make a lot of questions, maybe this can help you solve them." She smiled a mysterious smile and got closer, reaching into her jacket again. Her hand was soft into his hand, and the pen tickled into his palm.

A street and some numbers.

"What is this?" When Yura raised his head, Mila was already opening the front gate of the garden.

"What is your name?" She yelled in a whisper.

"Yuri." He whispered back without a second thought.

"Well, Yuri, you can find The Gang there. Come visit sometime." And she ran off with a wave and a smile.

Not even a full hour had passed since he had put on his boots when Yura took them off and flopped on his bed. If he closed his eyes and focused really hard, he could even hear the crowd cheering. Or maybe, he thought, looking at the scribbled address on his left hand, it was just the blood rushing on his ears.

The careful letters called him. Mila was right, he had a lot of questions. They all still were a pain in the ass, Mila included. That girl was a walking question.


	2. I've Been Waiting For A Guide To Come And Take Me By The Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry I haven't updated. Chapter three is already written if it's any consolation. I don't have a valid excuse for ignoring this thing for over a month. Here you go!

"Yuuko says hi."

"Aw, she's nice, write her back soon," Phichit said. He was pushing a box through the door.

Yuuri put the letter down and stood up. "Need help?"

"Nah, got it." He finally pushed the box to the centre of the room. "I think that's all, where's the polaroid?" Phichit had obtained that machine a while back, from a second-hand store. It was his pride. Yuuri was already used to it, he fetched the camera from where it was lying on top of the top bunk and handed it to his best friend. "Say cheese!" The photography rolled out and Phichit shook it a little. Then he grabbed a pen and wrote on it. "You like it?"

Yuuri received the photography and read "Yuuri and our new home! -autumn 1997". On the other side were immortalised the boxes, the undone bunk bed, Yuuri on an old chair and the window, the sunlight coming softly trough it.

"Love it."

By the time they put everything in place it was already dark outside. Phichit said he remembered seeing a bakery three blocks away. Yuuri knew it was also an excuse to see the city at night, so he accepted.

With the camera already hanging from his neck, Phichit took some money from his bag and headed to the door.

The bakery smelled really nice. It was clean and warmer than outside. There were photos of Elvis in random places of the room, and a woman behind the counter looked at them when the bell on the door rang as they entered.

"I was about to close," she didn't seem bothered by them, though. "How can I help you, young man?"

"Can I take a picture?"

"Oh, are you new here?"

"I am, can I?" Yuuri was already embarrassed, but Phichit was shameless, never doubted. Not even when he played cello in the orchestra, and Yuuri was amazed because that thing had no visual help to find the right notes.

"I don't understand how you manage to understand that thing."

Phichit had laughed lightly.

"Your flute is far more disturbing, Yuuri."

"Or course sweetheart, do you want me to smile too?"

"Yes, please, ma'am!" That made her laugh.

She was now leaning on the counter, which was filled with all kinds of sweets, including some triangular fried thing that neither of them knew the name of.

"C'mon, Yuuri!" Phichit said excitedly as he shook the picture. "This one is on me!"

One of the ways to Yuuri's heart was food. Ah, Phichit was a really good friend. Half an hour and an entire bag of sweets after, they waved at the woman on their way out, hugging their paper bags.

A bark called Yuuri's attention. Right in front of the bakery, across the street, there was a slim figure leaning on the wall. It seemed to Yuuri that, for a moment, the man had looked straight at him. He had a cigarette to his lips and a book on the left hand. There was a rather big dog, brown and curly all over, sitting next to him. The dog barked again.

"Oh that's one nice dog, Yuuri please take this."

Yuuri grabbed both paper bags while his friend got a picture of the man and the dog. Upon a brief inspection of the man's face, Yuuri turned around quickly and resumed his walk towards the room. He knew that man. Of course he did.

"Yuuri, what happened?" he sounded slightly out of breath.

"That was him, the guy I told you about."

Phichit took a moment to process the information. He could recall at least 15 letters about a guy that was really outstanding on a subject Yuuri could barely get a grasp of. He opened his eyes wide.

"Niko-Nikaf-"

"Nikiforov. That was Viktor Nikiforov."

"I took a picture of Viktor Nikiforov."

"You took a picture of Viktor Nikiforov."

They both laughed as Yuuri put the key on their door. He immediately climbed to his bed, the top bunk, and opened his bag.

"Give it to me. C'mon."

Phichit checked the many, many, pictures he took on their short walk.

"I had no idea he had a dog," he said receiving the photograph. "Thank you."

Was Yuuri going to keep it to himself? Of course he was going to, he already had. Phichit didn't question him, it was a good picture.

Yuuri thought the same. The smoke framed his fine silhouette, his lips curled around the cylinder between his fingers. He could have described it as poetry.

He kept the photography trapped in a "pocket" in the wall. This pocket being a cut on the wallpaper. Classy.

Yura woke up early the next day. It was Saturday, which meant that his grandfather was downstairs shooting at the wall. He took some guns to try them on the weekend, clean them, or fix them. But during the week he worked in a shop, not at home.

The light barely graced his ceiling, what time was it? Too early for shooting, that for sure. Yura rolled on the bed lazily, stretching his legs to reach for the colder part of the sheets, the last remains of his dream trying to drag him back. But reality goes beyond fiction and when he remembered what had happened last night he immediately felt more awake.

His hand still had the ballpoint pen writing.

The door opened suddenly, his grandfather bursting into the room so fast Yura barely had time to hide his hand.

"Yurotchka, you are awake already. Good. I'm going out."

"Where to?"

"A client wanted help trying out some old guns, I'll be back late. There's money on the table. Treat yo self," he patted Yura's head.

Then he left.

Yura heard the bike, and then he didn't hear it anymore. He had the house for himself. But no, he jumped out of bed straight to his boots, he had London for himself.

It was not a very long walk. Five blocks away from his house there was a bakery that matched the adress he was given. He hesitated at the door for a moment, but he went in anyways.

A door bell rang, calling the attention of the woman behind the counter.

"What can I do for you, young man?"

"I'm looking for-"

"Yuri, you came! He's a friend, Mama, we met him a the concert." The girl took off her apron and untied her red hair. "The guys are upstairs, c'mon."

"Is he gonna meet The Gang? Behave, boys."

"Yes, Mama."

The bakery turned into a corridor on the left corner and that corridor turned into a staircase. Yura couldn't quite examinate the second floor, Mila leaded him steaight to the third floor, that looked like an attic at first sight, and it probably was. But it had a couple of sofas and a tv.

And people.

Viktor is there. He waves at him from the couch and moves a cheese piece. It calls Otabek's attention. His eyes brush over him again and the settle on Mila.

"Why did you bring him here?"

"He was asking a lot of questions, and he seemed nice. I've seen him at school."

"I have, too!" This boy looked about his age but had softer lines on his face. He was blonde but part of his hair was dyed an intense shade of red. "You come from Russia, right?"

Yura nodded slightly.

"I'm Kenjirou, but everyone calls me Minami, that's my last name."

"This is Yuri," Mila spoke again.

Everyone was looking at him. The guy next to Viktor, the one that was also there last night, stood up, walked up to him, and looked him in the eye.

"I saw you fighting last night," he started, never looking away. "You had the eyes of a soldier, and you have them now." Yura didn't know how to respond. He felt slightly threatened and ready to kick him. "War is the last thing we need, take it easy. If you threaten our safety in anyway, you can't hang out with us."

He looked dead serious and very threatening. And despite the fact that he wasn't very much taller than Yura, he hoovered powerful over him. Yura just held his gaze until Mila spoke.

"You take it easy too, Otabek. Don't scare the new kid."

"I'm not scared."

"I'm Otabek, this is The Gang."

"That much I understood from your sister last night."

"You already met these guys but those are Georgi, Sara, Isabella, and Makkachin, the poodle. We hang up here most of the time so feel at home. Come sit here, Yuri!" Mila patted a spot next to her on the couch, and next to a gloomy-looking kid. "Guys, this is Yuri."

"I'm Georgi Popovich."

"I'm Yuri Plisetsky."

Georgi offered a hand to shake. He had thin fingers and bags under his eyes. Yura looked around.

"Sara Crispino."

"Isabella Yang, nice to meet you."

Yura nodded, trying to take them in. Isabella had black hair and red lips. Sara had chubby cheeks and was drinking from a bottle.

Viktor looked at him with amusement and a black eye.

"Otabek, it's your turn."

Sara turned on the tv and Otabek returned to his seat, next to Viktor and the dog. Mila leant back on her spot, looking at Viktor.

"Any luck last night with that black eye?"

"You underestimate me, Mila." Viktor made another masterful movement with his tower and smirked at Otabek's conflicted expression.

"Is that so?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Two guys, one chick. They were pretty intoxicated anyways so for all they know they could have banged a 50-year-old USA marine. Wasn't much fun, though."

"Why?"

Viktor shrugged.

"They spaced out quite a lot and suddenly they were on top of me again and then they were in fucking Andromeda." Some of them laughed at the last phrase but the rest was too into the tv.

Yura went blank for a second. Viktor had what? The shock clearly showed on his face.

"Yuri, what happened?" Mila asked. Isabella tried to explain the tv show but Mila's mom's voice raised from downstairs.

"Are you guys hungry?"

"Definitely! Otabek your mom is a saint." Viktor hit Otabek's king with his trusty tower and stood up. "Minami, help me bring the coffee."

Yura could not believe what he was seeing, but now he could not unsee it. If he thought hard enough about it, Viktor's hips swinging gave him away when he walked. He was one of those.

"Otabek did you make these?" Isabella pointed at the sweets on the table and took a sip from her coffee.

"Yes."

"Theft aft felifious", Viktor exclaimed.

Yura looked at him in disgust, like he had for the last 13 minutes.

"What is up, Yuri?"

He angrily munched a croissant, pointing at Viktor, he said:

"I don't understand how can you all hang out with this fa-"

"Yuri!" Mila covered his mouth with a cold hand. Personal space wasn't something she was used to. Yura rolled his eyes. "We don't use that word in this house!"

Sara kind of choked for a second and started coughing. Viktor smiled and took a sip from his cup.

"I am a fabulous guy, I know. I'm sure you want my autograph."

"You're disgusting."

Everyone went silent. Viktor took another sip and shrugged. Otabek frowned at Yura.

"You can't just go around and say that to people," Isabella swiftly straightened her back, "it is unethical, and just not your business."

Mila next to him, her hands still squeezing his mouth shut, nodded.

Yura considered it. He even kind of like it here, and he didn't want to be thrown out because he decided to be kind of an asshole.

"I guess you're right," he growled.

Phichit plastered photographs on the wall next to the window and above the desk they shared. They weren't glued, as he had written something on the reverse of each one. So he had pinned them to the wall. Yuuri had explained to him that they were renting but Phichit said that no one would notice.

He was visibly excited. The whole weekend he just talked about studying periodism and how much he wanted to see all of London. Not even Yuuri had seen all of London, though.

The big day came and Yuuri didn't have the heart to flat out tell Phichit not to take the camera with him. Instead, he suggested that he focused on paying attention to where his classroom was. It had next to no effect, as Phichit forced him to take pictures of him and carried the camera everywhere the rest of the time.

Not much had changed since last year, except the fact that he was no longer lost inside the massive building. A couple of classmates had dropped out. Panic slowly crept on him when he heard that in the hallways.

But when he got to his first class, there he was. Already sitting in his usual spot, all the way to the front. Silk-like hair falling over his leather jacket. Viktor Nikiforov. He sighed in relief.

"I am dead."

The a week ago enthusiastic young man was now lying flat on the bottom bunk, completely drained.

Yuuri looked at him from his book about ethics.

"I thought this was necessary but, at what cost?"

"You're being-"

"Overdramatic, I know." There was a pause. Phichit accommodated himself so he had a more clear image of Yuuri. "I'm hungry."

"Me too."

"I know."

Yuuri's breath itched as he opened the door after a three block walk. The door bell rang.

They were greeted by a young woman. Younger than them.

"May I help you?" She was as sweet as the old lady. Yuuri figured it was a familiar business.

On the way back he was even more nervous. He didn't know if he would see Viktor again. Maybe he lived near, but maybe he was waiting for someone. Who did he hang out with anyway? He was smart, cool, and handsome. He could hang out with anyone. Even with that though-looking punk on a motorbike that just appeared from around the corner.

But Viktor didn't show up. And though he did see him every day at class, it was another couple of weeks until they actually spoke.

He and Phichit became regular costumers on Friday nights. It was always on Mila's shift. She was quite smiley and pretty, and often spoke about her brothers with affection.

That particular Friday night Yuuri stayed awake long after Phichit began to snore, the earlier events going on his brains on a loop like it was trying to grab onto the surrealism of it all and destroy it.

They had taken their usual walk to the bakery. A dishevelled kid on a leather jacket went inside after pushing them, at the same time someone came down the stairs.

"Yuri."

Yuuri's heart stopped dry and jumped from the Big Ben. He knew that voice.

But Viktor Nikiforov, the Viktor Nikiforov, wasn't talking to him. He approached the kid and grabbed him by his shoulders.

"You gotta work on that timing, Yuri."

"Whatever, I'm here ain't I?" Yuri, the blonde and shorter one, made a gesture to Mila with his head, which she returned.

Yuuri really didn't want to stare, but he also really wanted to melt into the floor and be food for the grass in China. And that wasn't happening either. Phichit went ahead and made his way to the counter, with Yuuri slowly following, still unable to look away.

Those intelligent eyes graced over him for a second. Yuuri thought he had been caught, but no one said nothing and it looked like the two of them were going to the back of the bakery. Until Yuri turned around and looked at him with absolute disgust. That caught Viktor's attention.

The smile was fast on his lips and in no time he was in front of him.

"Did you catch on Feltsman's class today?"

Wasn't that Viktor's strong area? Yuuri shook his head without a word.

"I have a summary, you can come pick it up anytime, alright?"

Yuuri nodded. His mind unable to make anything else work. Viktor nodded too, and then Yuri growled something along the lines of "hurry the fuck up you animal" so Viktor winked and left.

He had the paper bag on his arms before he could notice, still going over Viktor's words.

"That was my brother, the tall one," Mila informed. "And that means my shift is over." That made Phichit laugh.

Mila took off the white apron and turned off the lights as they exited the place.

“Fare thee well, boys.”

Yuuri rolled over and covered his face with his hands. He would have liked to be more responsive. Was he going to actually take Viktor’s word and accept his help?

He extended his hand in the dim light coming from the window and reached for the picture on the wall. He wasn’t wearing glasses, though. And in a clumsy movement, he dropped the picture inside the large pocket formed by the wallpaper coming off.

Although they shared every class, Yuuri didn’t talk to Viktor. He didn’t have the guts.

It got to the point where he was too panicked to go to the bakery, but Phichit was not having any of it, so he tagged along. It came out that his fear was not pointless. Mila had been replaced by Viktor behind the counter.

“Hey, you never came back!” He was wearing a white apron, just like his sister and his mom. “I still have the summary, the next test is in a week, are you gonna need them? I can personally help you if you want.”

After staring at the handwriting and studying with Viktor's notes for hours, Yuuri still failed. At the end of Viktor's papers, there was a number and a heart. Yuuri flat out ignored them.

He noticed Viktor's finger going over the paper stapled to the wall and stopping over "Yuuri Katsuki" and the awful grade next to it. He saw Nikiforov's grade, it wasn't awful. It was far from awful, it was nearly perfect.

After Giacometti's class, the last of Friday, Viktor stayed in the classroom long after everyone, even the teacher, was gone. Everyone but the chubby boy putting away his stuff. He leaned on the desk, acting cool. But it looked too artificial so he decided to lean on the door frame.

Yuuri was so abstracted that he didn't notice him when walking past him into the hallway.

"Hey, Yuuri!"

"Viktor!" A point for Katsuki for not stuttering. "Thank you for the notes."

"Were they useful?"

Yuuri was sure they were useful, but there was no use in him trying to understand what they were about. I wasn't like Viktor's help wasn't good, he didn't want to say that. So he just nodded. The man walking next to him stopped dry, and he stopped too. In no time Viktor had him cornered to the wall, a finger over his thin lips, ice blue eyes looking at him in a "are you really sure?" fashion.

"I'm going to help you study." He decided, resuming his walk. Yuuri was already out of breath in the middle of the empty corridor. "This Saturday morning?"

"You really don't have to-"

"Nonsense!"


	3. Figuring It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, after a long time
> 
> See the outcome of Viktor Nikiforov inviting Yuuri to study at his place  
> Enjoy!

It's like a walking teapot decided to nest in the bottom bunk, hiding its red face against the pillow. Phichit could swear he sees steam coming from the ears. Not black anger smoke, but gentle shame steam.

He doesn't even dare to laugh, mentally listing the things that could get his friend into this state. The grade he was waiting for, something utterly embarrassing, or Viktor Nikiforov.

As Yuuri explained five minutes later, after a glass of water and cleaning his glasses, it was all of the above.

"He saw your grade?" A nod. "But, did he say something?"

Yuuri covered his face with the pillow again. It muffled what he said next, so Phichit wasn't sure he heard correctly.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

Deep breaths, Yuuri, c'mon.

"He decided to teach me, to help me study, at his place, the bakery. I couldn't say no-"

"Did you want to say no?"

"I tried but he wouldn't let me?"

"Hm," Phichit dramatically crossed his legs and held his hands together in front of his face, the book he was supposed to be paying attention to now totally forgotten. "Why this sudden rush of attention for you? I mean, at least you went to the party but you left early."

"I don't remember most of it," Yuuri agreed.

Phichit shrugged and Yuuri let his head fall back onto the bed again.

It was early for a Saturday morning, too early considering the cold. Viktor's mom told him to go straight to the third floor. The man on the second floor that was wearing only underwear did the same.

The third floor was really comfy-looking. It seemed like the perfect place to concentrate and study.

Viktor made a good teacher, which was great because he was studying to become one. But Yuuri...

He wasn't even a good student, what was he doing here?

Viktor was patient and light-humoured. They were sitting in the same long couch, really close, Yuuri could swear. He could clearly see how he moved his hair frequently and put his finger on top of his lips when in silence. It did things to him. Things like, well, distracting him.

He was too busy focusing on his face features and the jumps of his voice when explaining important shit.

At 1 o'clock exactly all the peace and quiet disappeared. Mila came in, also the other Yuri, and the man that was in his underwear. Except now he was fully dressed and carried a bunch of rice plates.

"Hi guys, this is Yuuri from my class."

Mila hugged him, Yuri ignored him, the other man approached him and extended a hand with a rice portion.

"You can stay for lunch if you want to."

Yuuri thanked his offering and received it.

"What are you studying, guys?"

Viktor showed her the book he was currently holding.

"Hey, guys, oh, who's this?"

Yuuri stood up and introduced himself.

"Katsuki Yuuri, I'm Viktor's classmate. He is helping me study." He held himself back from bowing.

"Is a first name basis okay?" Yuuri nodded and she smiled. "You can call me Isabella, Yuuri."

Yuuri nodded again and sat down.

More people came in, they turned the TV on. It was a Doctor Who re-run, but no one seemed to really pay attention to it. They were all too busy eating for solid five minutes.

Yuuri didn't want to eat too fast, nor did he want to eat too slow. He checked everyone else's rice. The other Yuri wasn't even halfway there, Viktor was almost finished, while Mila had already finished. He calculated his pace to match Viktor's. Some of them started talking over the lunch, about their way to there, how good the rice was, how good that episode was.

He and Viktor set their empty bowls down on the table at the same time.

"We can continue studying in my room," Viktor offered, extending a hand and bearing a half-lidded smile.

If he had still been eating, he would have choked. He could notice Yuri rolling his eyes and that made him more uneasy.

"Thank you, really, but I should go already." He stood up. "Thank you for the food as well," he looked at everyone and they waved, curious of Viktor's attempt to seduce.

"I'll walk you home then," Viktor stood up as well and retrieved their coats, handing Yuuri's to him. "Where do you live?" He asked once they were outside.

"You don't need to do it, it's just three blocks in that direction."

Viktor's eyes lightened up. Yuuri couldn't say no.

The walk felt too long, and when they finally got there it seemed like Viktor was waiting for something else.

"Thank you," he was just repeating himself now.

"You keep saying that," he let out a small chuckle. "It's okay, it really is."

"I just- I-" Yuuri blushed as he caught himself about to say it again. But he was weak for the look Viktor was giving him, waiting for him to say something. "Thank you." He wanted to break a bottle on his own head.

Viktor got closer, Yuuri felt his cold fingers fluttering over his chin, his warm breath against his cheek.

"Whenever you need," and like a period to the last phrase, Yuuri received a small feather-like touch on his face, taking away his breath for a second. Then the moment was over, much to his relief and disappointment, and Viktor asked: "Will you come next week?" He wasn't waiting for an answer, he winked and turned around, leaving.

With the kiss still cold in his cheek, Yuuri Katsuki made a decision: he would go to Viktor's next week.

So he did, and also the week after that, and the next and the next and the next.

"Are you hanging out with punks?" Phichit made a face.

"They are nice, it's okay," his friend wasn't convinced.

Viktor was the most captivating human being ever, Yuuri was so thankful for being friends with him. His friends and siblings were nice too, and one week before Christmas, after studying for finals, they got to the subject of family.

Yuri couldn't quite stand the new boy. It wasn't that he was not nice most of the time. Yuuri had proven to be kind and cool enough to hang out with him, which he would never admit.

But he himself was also new to The Gang, and he wasn't a novelty anymore. It wasn't fair. There was room for just one Yuri and that was him.

There was also Viktor and his disgusting fixation with the chubby boy.

Disgusting.

"My family lives in Bristol, I grew up there and came here to study," Yuuri wrapped himself tighter in the blanket before adding: "But I was born in Hasetsu, Japan."

"Woah that's pretty great!"

"Who do you live with? Alone?" That was Mila, motherly and sticking her nose in other's business as always.

"Oh no, I live three blocks away with Phichit, a friend from Bristol, he's studying too. Mila, you know him."

"I thought he was your boyfriend." Everyone laughs.

"Who do you live with, Yuri?" Viktor asks.

"I live with my grandfather. He's from Russia."

"And your parents?"

Yura shrugged.

Mila sank more into Otabek's hug and put her legs on top of Yura's, calling his attention.

"I ran away."

Everyone was respectfully silent. Otabek ran his fingers through her hair and she leant into the touch but held Yura's gaze into the dim light of the room. Only a candle in the centre of the table. It was an overly intimate ambient, even though they were nine. Some of them were lying on the floor, munching on cookies.

"I think they know where I live, anyways. Back then I was around twelve, maybe younger. They sent me to a nun school when I said I didn't want to marry."

"You were a child," Yura remarked, everyone was thinking that.

"I was. I ran away." Her expression hardened for a second, then it softened as she turned to Otabek. "They found me, Otabek and Viktor. They saved me, and mama let me in her house, allowed me to be properly educated."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"This is my family, Otabek, Viktor, Georgi, Sara, Minami, Isabella, even Yuuri. Even you. We are, in a sense, family. No matter what, we-"

"I know." He interrupted. "I have come to stand all of you too."

"They want me there?"

"I mean, its Christmas, if I go out you can't be left behind on your own. They are nice, I promise."

"Can I bring my camera?"

"Sure, and if the aren't nice we can come back here. Promised."

"Okay."

After spending an hour deciding between a green and a blue sweater ("blue brings out your smile" "shut up I'm in need"), Yuuri practically dragged his friend to the third floor of the bakery.

"Is that a Polaroid?" Sara was very interested. Phichit felt at ease.

Isabella's boyfriend was there. An asshole, if you asked Yura. But he left early, to be with his own family. Yura's grandfather was out of the city, he had a free pass to party.

There was mistletoe hanging from the door frame. It was, according to Minami, a hug mistletoe. Yura wanted to burn it down the moment Viktor leant way too close to Yuuri's face.

Otabek's mom left early to visit some ole friends a couple of cities over.

"Mila, this is really good!" Yura had been taken aback by the food bowl.

"Oh thank you, but I only helped. Otabek did all the job."

Yura's face fell.

"You cook?"

Otabek nodded. He was the manliest out of The Gang, Yura could bet he had a gun, maybe two. Imagining him with an apron in the kitchen was almost comical. Minami was too cute to be considered manly, Georgi cried too much, Yuuri was a fluff ball of awkwardness, and Viktor... he was out of the discussion.

"Well, maybe you celebrate Christmas but we're here because it's my birthday."

"Technically it is still 24."

"Just a couple hours, Minami." Viktor ran a hand through his hair.

There wasn't much alcohol. Otabek was careful not to let the underage people near a drop of liquor. Yura got away with half a glass of cheap beer, but he could swear it was Otabek just letting him.

They played loud music and ate lots. After a couple hours someone suggested to go outside in the snow and they did.

The street was empty, just snow-covered cars adorning the sides of the street. The sky blurry from snow and smoke from the chimneys. Under the orange streetlights, the street belonged to the ten of them.

And it was like they belonged there. Falling face-first in the snow at midnight. Stumbling across the street, running away from each other, tripping to the ground and on top of each other. Throwing snowballs, rolling on the pavement, laughing uncontrollably.

Shaking because it's so fucking cold and because they are alive. And they shake, with fear and joy and everything that comes with being young. They shook their heads to imaginary drums and danced to the tune of out of tune improvised melodies until they were so worn out and tired that faint laughs was all that could be heard during the silent night.

Cold hands and noses, they marched in single file into the three-story building and collapsed onto the third floor.

Tangled limbs, messy heads, they woke up one by one the morning after.

Yura was comfortably using Mila as a pillow. Yuuri, on the other hand, couldn't quite feel his left leg, as it was being crushed by Viktor. And a dog.

Viktor Nikiforov was sleeping attached to his leg and a massive dog, his face was so peaceful, he couldn't believe his luck. That thought made him blush a deep shade of red.

It was comfortable enough, though, and he thought about going back to sleep. But Phichit behind him moved and Yuuri lifted his head to look at him.

He was wearing a sleepy smirk and lifted his eyebrows at the sight of Viktor.

Yuuri sank into deep contemplation. Silver hair mixed with brown curly hair, and he found it in himself, with surprise and a little bit of panic creeping up his spine, that he wasn't sure which one he wanted to run his fingers through.

Like a mosaic, Phichit's wall looked like it wanted to say something. Pictures of all kind of scenes elbowed each other for a space on the old wallpaper. The most recent part of it was covered in white. The snow was still raging outside, dominating London. But there was not much time left till winter said goodbye and the first flowers started to bloom.

He had recently been allowed to have a section on the university radio station. He informed of recent events and put on music, mostly. It was like a dream.

His classes were interesting enough for him to stand reading for three hours straight, sitting on the chair next to the window.

Yuuri, from where he was lying on the bottom bunk, seemed to be falling asleep with a ball point pen in his mouth.

"Yuuri, have you kissed any girls lately?" Phichit carefully turned around, but it made him jump anyways.

He took the pen out of his mouth and answered with a shaky "Have you?"

Phichit shrugged.

"Not really my area." And for a second it seemed that Phichit was going to drop the subject and go back to studying.

Oh, if only Yuuri Katsuki had such luck.

"Have you kissed any boys?"

Yuuri doesn't know whether to be relieved or ashamed when he hears himself say "No".

His friend put his book down, definitely forgotten, and turned around completely. He immediately sat up on the bed, wide awake now.

"But, would you like to?"

"Would you?" He shot back instantly.

A complete minute went by until Phichit got up and sat on the bed, really close.

"We can try, and figure it out together... if you want."

And Yuuri really trusts Phichit. They've known each other since they were smaller than the cello that Phichit attempted to play. They were orchestra mates, play-date companions. And in Phichit's eyes, there's embarrassment and curiosity. Yuuri saw himself reflected on them and their emotions. So he just nodded.

Phichit's fingertips wander around his face and he suddenly leans in. It's clumsy and stiff. They split in a second and Yuuri takes a sharp breath before diving in. He is warmly welcomed, his hands find their way to Phichit's short hair. They both just sink into the familiar and new feeling.

It's like swimming in a pool they've been looking at their whole life.

Yuuri caresses his shoulders and sets his hands down on the hips.

His face feels numb were Phichit is holding it. The room is too hot and too small, their legs bump, they get in the way. It's annoying. It's ridiculous.

They've known each other for a long, long time. But never like this. It's scary, Yuuri thinks. That doesn't mean he couldn't get more of it.

Yuuri breaks the kiss pushes Phichit onto the mattress, making him sigh. And he is pulled in again. From up here, he is very aware of their legs, of the tiny effort that would require moving his knee and...

The thought makes him sigh with something really close to pleasure. So he moves down to kiss Phichit's neck, not even sure of what to do or how. But he is willing to try anyways, now that he's been given a free pass. He goes back to his friend's lips almost immediately.

He drives his left hand to Phichit's sweater, it's grey and itchy. Yuuri never found it comfortable. Phichit's skin is warm and soft, it contracts under Yuuri's hand.

And in a second, Phichit is jerking away from the kiss and Yuuri's hand is pulled out of the sweater.

Their breath is uneven, their cheeks are fifty shades of red, Yuuri's hands fidget in his lap. He thinks that maybe he was too into it, he wasn't supposed to be so into it. He is the first to speak, they are sitting on opposite ends of the bed and Phichit's eyes are closed but he looks at him when he draws in a deep breath.

"Did it work?" Did what work? No idea. It had been Phichit's idea after all, right?

Phichit made an affirmative gesture.

"Not really my area either." His smile was apologetic.

"It... worked for me," Yuuri said timidly, not knowing how to explain it.

"I could notice that." He chuckled and scooted over, hugging him tightly. "Thank you," he muttered. Yuuri held him back.


End file.
